


This is

by TheTartWitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fox Stiles, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTartWitch/pseuds/TheTartWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all, what belongs to the fox always returns to the fox, no matter the form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is

There's an ending to this story, somewhere in the pages of a book that the author gave up on writing halfway through, but it's not this. The ending they were searching for couldn't possibly be this.  

" _You_ _think this is all you are, don't you?_ " The Nogitsune crowed, the resounding voice of madness in a hole that was what was left of its host. There was no answer, but the fox mentally stepped away from the crumpled body of the boy and snorted derisively. " _Weak. You were much stronger than this, all those lifetimes ago._ "  

When it was gone, there was a stir. A shift. Something broke, something irreparable.  

And what poured out was venomous. 

 

The Pack's disbelief is clearly etched upon their faces.  

"He's just... leaving?" Cora says, voice toneless and breathy. Derek snarls. Peter doesn't say a word.  _Foxes don't possess. They become._  

"He'll be back," Scott says confidently, "He's trying to gather forces for a final play." Peter wonders how much of Scott will be going with the disappearing fox when they realize what's actually going on.  _You were stronger, before. All those lives ago, when you were you and I was I._  

Derek looks pensive and thoughtful, like he's noticed Peter's calculating silence. He doesn't say anything, though; Peter's nephew has always been more the growly type than the argumentative type. It used to drive Peter mad, but he's grateful for it now.  _And what belongs to a fox? Always comes back to the fox, Peter_ _Peter_ _Pet. So don't you try to run._  

 _Foxes_ _are joyous_ _, wolfy; they play with their food before catching it._  

That night Peter leaves the loft and doesn't return. By the time Derek realizes he should probably speak up, a body's been discovered, kneeling by the Nemeton ( _a sacrifice, freely given and returned_ ). It's not Peter. 

It's Stiles.  

Or what's left of him, anyway. He looks gutted, like beneath his skin there's nothing and nothing and nothing until you meet the flesh on the other side. His eyes are hollow, amber glinting like a gem in the fading light of Beacon's sun. He kneels like he's praying, on his knees before the tree with his hands palm-up on his lap. The wind rustling through the clearing catches on his lips and imitates a sigh, and Derek can feel Scott's rage and grief at the sight of the knife, gleaming and blood-stained and so obviously ceremonial, especially when Erica nudges it with her foot and it slips over to show the Hale triskelion.  

The scents around the Nemeton are always confusing, but tonight, just for them, it clears the air and lets them smell everything as they should. 

Stiles smells like smoke and lightning and sawdust and storms right before thunder. Something is right on top of it, like a piggyback given to a ghost, like ice and the embers that crackle out of a fire and light the neighbor's house red and gold. Peter's scent is thick on the knife, but Stiles was the one to touch it most recently, using it to cross his own throat.  

Lydia is crying. "I didn't scream," she says into Allison's shoulder, eyes eerie. "I didn't scream."  

Isaac rumbles in his throat like a train and bends with Boyd to pick up the boy's body from the soggy dirt. They begin to retreat back to the loft, unable to think clearly with the scent of Stiles' panic and shame and fear clouding their heads.  

They've gone three steps when Lydia stops short and throws back her head, the sound cloaking the noise of a deadened limb scratching at a throat, but it doesn't muffle Isaac's terrified howl as Stiles' dead eyes bore into his. A quick bite ends the noise, and soon there's no noise at all.  

 

Peter doesn't ever return to Beacon Hills. As the story spreads across the nation's news channels and eventually die out due to no one being capable of reporting, Peter thinks about it. Thinks he might feel guilty for leaving his last bit of family alone after what they left in Stiles' place.  

But then he sees the creature by his side, light and graceful and everything Stiles was shaping up to be: clever, resourceful, and a chatterbox. Stiles was born to be the fox, died to be the fox, and Peter doesn't really feel bad about that.  

_After_ _all, what belongs to the fox always returns to the fox, no matter the form._


End file.
